


Just Mine

by awriter_fromspace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, Exhibitionism, Exhibitionist Sam Winchester, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23884204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awriter_fromspace/pseuds/awriter_fromspace
Summary: When Sam becomes the king of hell, the first thing he does is bring his brother down with him, as a demon. Now Sam has Dean there he can't help but show him off.Sam has an exhibitionist kink and Dean is like his trophy, and his favorite place to show off is in the throne room.PWP, smut, lemon, etc(literally no plot here; Dean doesn't love the exhibition part but it is consensual; there's also blood drinking)
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, demon!dean & boyking!sam
Comments: 8
Kudos: 76





	Just Mine

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to voodoogypsyeyes who has been rec’ing this fic, and if you haven’t read her work, which is basically like a prequel (set in se10) to this, you can do that here Take Me With You 

They're sitting on top of the black, thorny throne, Dean straddling Sam, facing him. He's desperately fucking himself back on Sam, one hand bracing himself against the back of the throne, the other being held at an angle just right for Sam to suck the blood spilling from his wrist.

Dean’s head is leaned toward Sam’s, doing his best to ignore the black eyes of the court watching them. They don’t do this often, and always unannounced, so it mortifies him that there are so many of Sam’s subjects here, watching them hungrily. It’s just one of the kinks Dean indulges now, now that they’ve both chosen hell.

But all the eyes of the world couldn’t make him any less desperate now, wanting more of Sam, of his breath and skin and _cock_. Dean wants Sam deeper, and every effort he makes to drive him there forces a breath out of him. Dean can’t breathe. Losing any air he manages to gulp down in audible hitches and moans. A little consolation comes from the fact that Sam can’t stop his own noises, whining and groaning into Dean’s wrist where he’s drinking his brother dry.

Sam pops off and moves further up his skin, right into the crook of his arm, biting hard until he forces the skin to break, lapping at the new rush of blood. This pushes Dean further toward orgasm, and he tilts his head a little, lips against Sam's ear.

“You really like them watching, Sammy?” he breathes out, as coherently as possible.

Sam grunts.

“Even this part?” He whispers. “I can’t...” because every part of this is embarrassing really, and he trusts Sam to know what he means.

“Just close your eyes,” his brother whispers back, gently pushing Dean’s face into his shoulder, sheltering him. “Pretend they’re not there, I promise I’ll get you there.” And he presses a soft kiss to Dean’s neck.

It’s when Sam paints a line with his tongue, all along his neck, that he forces himself to focus on them, on where they meet, and manages to forget himself again. Dean shifts to expose more skin to Sam and it changes their angle suddenly so that every movement bumps Sam’s cock into his prostate. He moans loudly, lost again, and braces both hands behind them, giving himself more leverage to grind down harder.

Sam hums an approval before going back to his task of breaking Dean open in every way, sucking down his blood like he’s been starving for it. 

It forces Dean to the edge and pushes him right off. So lost now that there’s no room for anyone else in his head but Sam, and it spills out of him, all the feelings interlaced in his cum, his blood, in the words he’s not aware of moaning. It’s drawn out, he loses time and awareness.

Sam adores the way Dean cums, but then again, he adores everything about Dean. The orgasm wracking through his brother is a distraction only from his blood. Sometimes he’s amazed at how long he lasts when he’s surrounded by so much Dean; when his brother’s very blood is warming his insides. And the crowd. _God_ , he loves them watching. Loves the black eyes set intently on their points of contact, and he knows it’s hard to choose between the blood and Dean’s perfect ass because when it’s not on his throne, it’s in front of his mirror. He licks a broad stripe on Dean’s shoulder, where the blood of his latest bite colors his skin and smears the red up toward his neck. All of it as much a show for his court as an indulgence of personal whims.

Sam glances around the room slowly, making eye contact with every set he encounters, and he’s pushing himself closer. He knows Dean is almost done above him, so he leaves the blood, unable to give his attention to more than one thing right now, and shifts instead to shove forcefully into him. Dean’s ass is clenched tight around him, and Sam can’t pull out, so he pushes further, further in. But he’s already bottomed out, he knows, still, he wants to be deeper. Sam wants to come so deep inside his brother that it’ll never leave him. He makes eye contact with someone, he doesn’t know their name, doesn’t really care, but knowing they’re watching him brand his brother... His perfect Dean who he knows they all want, _can’t have_ , showing off his property without letting them touch and all the thoughts swim together until everything’s out of focus and he’s coming inside Dean. Just as long, just as hard, following his brother down the dark rabbit hole.

It’s a long time before he’s aware of anything again. He’s starved for breath, blinking rapidly to try to focus, and the scene begins to bleed through the fog in his mind. The weight of Dean on top of him, slumped into him, his own arms wrapped tight around his brother’s waist is followed quickly by the realization that they’re still in the throne room. Sam blinks once more before it fully dawns on him that the others are still there, still watching like the show’s not over, and it pisses him off. Sure he likes an audience, but they should know better, he’s pissed they haven’t even moved, especially when he knows Dean hates being so exposed. He wants to yell, let all the thunder in him rumble out in words. He wants to scare them, but Dean’s breathing is deep and steady against him, and he doesn’t want to startle him. Sam opts for moving them into their bedroom instead, disappearing in a cloud of black smoke, moody, petulant like a teenager.

He’ll deal with them later. He’ll have fun too. Letting Sam stew in his anger has never resulted in any mercy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Title is, funny enough, from a song from a different show, haha. She'll Be Mine from Galavant :)


End file.
